Too fragile for the storms, too proud to ask for shelter.
We bruise each other by accident and call it fate.
We mistake silence for peace, distance for dignity.
where we learn to love through loss,
where we taste sweetness only after we’ve
swallowed salt.
I wouldn’t give us mouths that lie kindly,
or eyes that see the best in those
who leave.
laugh when we’re anxious,
hug people who don’t know
how much they’ve broken us.
Isn’t it funny? The way we keep going?
not ones who write poems about pain.
Maybe there’s a strange kind of grace
in being this messy.
Maybe there's beauty in the breaking.
I'd still make people like you and me—
just not so good at pretending.








